


The Finer Points of Women

by misstriplem



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Arthur Morgan x Female Reader - Freeform, F/M, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:01:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25075786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misstriplem/pseuds/misstriplem
Summary: Tilly, Mary-Beth, and Karen assist Arthur in preparing to take you out for a night on the town.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 92





	The Finer Points of Women

**Author's Note:**

> This is somewhat (and weirdly) inspired by that scene in the original Beauty and the Beast, where Lumiere and co are attempting to make Beast look pretty for the dinner date with Belle.

Mary-Beth Gaskill clutched the shaving kit to her chest and slipped around the tent.

Tilly Jackson and Karen Jones waved her over to where they cowered in the long shadow made by the canvas. Mary-Beth hunkered down with them as they peered around it and into the camp, keeping an ever-watchful eye out for their quarry.

“Did you bring the mirror?” Tilly whispered as she took the kit from Mary-Beth.

She shook her head. “Grimshaw came back just as I grabbed this.”

Karen turned sharply at the sound of the camp matriarch’s name. “She didn’t see you take the kit, did she?”

Mary-Beth shook her head and peeked around the tent. The coast was still clear. She gave Karen a rather indignant look. “Of course not.”

Tilly gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “It don’t matter if we have a mirror,” she whispered. “One of us can watch while the other shaves.”

Mary-Beth nodded and glanced at the bundle Karen held in her arms. “What did you pick?”

Karen flashed the folded fabric quickly, but it was difficult to see in the gloom of the evening. “The only ones that were clean—or something like clean, at least.”

A figure cut through the camp toward the tent. The girls immediately pressed their lips together and huddled in the shadows. Mary-Beth gripped Karen’s arm while Tilly pressed close to the canvas, the precious shaving kit held tightly in her arms. It was the best one in camp; Grimshaw kept it especially for Dutch, who didn’t want to leave it where the elements might rust the impeccably sharpened razor or damage the soap and brush-- or, more to the point, where someone much less deserving might find it and be inclined to sully the fine equipment.

“Okay, girls,” Karen whispered breathily, “here he comes.”

They leapt out from behind the tent just as Arthur Morgan reached it. The outlaw jumped back, his hand flying immediately to the revolver at his hip. When he saw the girls, his expression twisted with angry relief.

“Christ alive,” he muttered as he dropped his hand. “What in the hell are you all doing, skulking around like that?”

Mary-Beth stepped forward. “What’d she say?”

Arthur blinked at them, his mouth slightly parted in surprise.

Tilly placed a hand on her hip. “Well, Arthur?”

He sighed as his hand lifted to scratch absently at the back of his neck. Arthur glanced over both of his shoulders and, when he was satisfied that no one was in earshot, turned his attention back to the girls. Arthur’s lips tugged up ever so slightly at the corner. “She said yes.”

Karen looked satisfied and a little pleased with herself. It had been her idea for Arthur to ask Y/N out to town, after all. Tilly was both happy and relieved. She didn’t really want to consider the consequences of taking the shaving kit without Grimshaw’s permission, but the fact that Arthur’s request had been accepted made the thought easier to bear. Mary-Beth clapped her hands together and sighed in contentment. She’d had no doubts about the proposal; in fact, she’d been the one to mention the possibility of the trip to town to Karen, who manifested the idea as one of her own creation. She didn’t mind, though. Karen liked to be in charge of those sorts of things and she was much better at it than Mary-Beth, whose was much more content to reside among her precious stories.

Karen grabbed Arthur’s arm and pulled him into the tent. He stammered, “What are you—”

Tilly held open the tent flap. “You didn’t think we was going to let you go off looking that _that_ , did you?”

Arthur paused and pulled his arm from Karen’s grip, clearly a bit affronted by the comment. He glanced down at his blue striped shirt and brown pants. Stains ran rampant over the fabric and he brushed idly at them. “I’m fine,” he countered with a frown at Mary-Beth.

She made a face that she hoped wasn’t quite as disapproving as her tone. “You’re filthy, Arthur.”

Karen shoved at him. “Don’t you worry, cowboy,” she said with a mischievous grin. “We’ll get you good and ready.”

*

“You went through _my things_?”

Karen laid out the clothes she’d selected from Arthur’s trunk earlier that evening. All in all, Arthur owned one vest, two shirts, and a pair of relatively intact pants that were acceptable for a night out on the town. She frowned at the assortment. They should probably stay in dim lighting, though. The men of the camp hardly cared for their clothing and, even after spending a couple of hours mending the selection, it was still abundantly clear that clothing was more functional than practical for Arthur Morgan.

“Just your clothing, Arthur,” Karen said over her shoulder. “You can barely dress yourself on a good day, let alone on a night when you’re taking your lady out.”

Arthur sulked in the chair as Mary-Beth spread the lather across his cheeks. Tilly stood at the ready, the straight razor gleaming in her hand.

He grunted as Tilly angled his head back. “She ain’t _my_ lady,” he muttered through thinly pressed lips. His fingers wrapped tightly around the arm of the chair and his shoulders remained tightly bunched.

Karen ignored him and waved Mary-Beth over to the clothing as she watched Tilly shave the thin layer of stubble that coated Arthur’s cheeks. Her eyes slid up to his swept-back hair and she frowned.

“We’ll have to do something with that hair,” she mused.

Arthur’s eyes snapped to her. They narrowed a fraction with suspicion. Tilly swiped the razor along his throat in one smooth stroke.

Mary-Beth turned her attention back to the clothes. She considered the options, picturing each of them in turn as she wondered of the decidedly limited options might suit the outlaw best. Eventually she settled on a blue paisley vest, a sufficiently white shirt, and black pants that had endured the fewest alterations. She hastily folded the others and tossed them onto Arthur’s trunk at the foot of his cot.

Karen and Mary-Beth discussed possible hairstyles as Tilly finished with the shaving. She wiped the remaining lather from Arthur’s chin and jaw and turned to Karen, her eyebrows raised in expectation.

“Okay,” Karen said with a wry grin, “let’s get to it, girls.”

*

Tilly turned Arthur’s slightly tarnished mirror toward him.

Karen placed her hands proudly on her hips. “What d’you think, Arthur?”

He tilted his head to the right and left. The more he looked, the more he wrinkled his nose in disappointment. “I look like a goddamn fool,” he grunted. Arthur lifted a hand and brushed his fingers against the parted strands of his hair. It was a style he’d once adopted as a young man and swiftly grown out of.

Tilly gave Karen a pointed look. “I _told_ you he wouldn’t go for that.”

Mary-Beth patted Arthur’s shoulder in encouragement. “We’ll get it right, Arthur.”

Karen held out her hands to indicate the sullen, put-upon outlaw. She said to Tilly, “You think you can do better? Be my guest.”

“A blind man could do better than _this,_ ” Tilly said as she gave Karen a sidelong look of disappointment. Arthur winced and grunted as Tilly tugged and pulled a fine-toothed comb through his hair.

“Now,” Karen began, pointedly ignoring Tilly’s comment, “what are you planning on doing once you get to town?”

He glanced dubiously at Tilly, who’d taken out a battered tin of half-used pomade. When he tried to dart around her reaching hand, she grabbed his chin, held him still, and did her work.

“Guess we could always have a quiet drink at the saloon,” he muttered around Tilly’s grip. “Ain’t looking for no big drama.”

Mary-Beth and Karen exchanged a look. The latter sighed and shook her head, while the former wondered if their efforts might truly be in vain. “Really, Arthur,” Karen said after a moment of stark disapproval. “You’d think you’ve never been around a woman before.”

Arthur pressed his lips together and sighed. It was true he wasn’t exactly well versed in the finer points of women, a fact which had inevitably led him to the demise of his relationship with Mary Gillis. But he still knew how to have a good time (the consumption of alcohol notwithstanding), despite the fact that he was having a rather difficult time coming up with a plan just at that moment.

At his continued silence, Tilly offered, “Take her to a movie house.”

“Better yet,” Karen countered with a glint in her eye, “have a few drinks and then take her to the hotel.”

Arthur’s eyes widened in shock as a wave of crimson spilled across his cheeks. Mary-Beth frowned and shoved Karen in the shoulder.

“I know!” Mary-Beth exclaimed as she clapped her hands together. “Take her on a nighttime boat ride!” Her eyes took on a wistful, faraway look. “That’d be so romantic, don’t you think, Arthur?”

Tilly held up the mirror once more in front of him. They all fell silent as they assessed the new look. Arthur squinted and realized with dismay that his pomaded hair was very reminiscent of one Josiah Trelawney.

Mary-Beth tried on a dubious smile. “It’s not _so_ bad.”

Karen rolled her eyes and shook her head.

Arthur closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the chair. “I’m going into town, not the goddamn circus.”

In the end, they decided it was best to leave his hair the way it had been, which required a quick wash (much to Arthur’s frustration) and restyling on the part of Mary-Beth, whose deft hand made him look presentable. The girls left the tent briefly in order to let Arthur dress in relative peace, though Karen had at first insisted they assist him with that, as well, as she wasn’t entirely sure he’d manage to dress without unintentionally (or intentionally) undoing all their work.

He picked up the paisley vest and gave it a good, hard stare, as though intending to intimidate it. It’d been an impulse purchase; the rest of his clothes had worn away to near rags that Miss Grimshaw threatened to dress him herself if he didn’t spend money some halfway decent clothes. It’d felt silly and superfluous, but he’d done it; inevitably, it was one of the few articles of clothing that survived that fire all those months ago. Arthur’s thoughts shifted and he wondered if Y/N would like it or laugh at him.

When he dressed and feeling like a properly trussed up prize chicken, Arthur stood before the tent entrance while the women inspected his appearance.

Tilly gave him a swift nod.

Mary-Beth smiled warmly at him.

Karen shrugged and conceded, “You’ll do.”

“Don’t forget—two drinks and that’s it,” Tilly cautioned as Arthur turned to leave. “Don’t you go making a fool of yourself in front of the lady.”

Karen interjected, “And tell her she looks nice!”

“But not too much,” Mary-Beth amended. “You don’t want to come on too strong.”

Arthur looked between them as they delivered their words of parting wisdom, unsure if he would be permitted to speak. Or if he _wanted_ to speak, for that matter.

“Make sure you act like a gentleman,” Tilly cautioned.

Karen pushed forward. “And kiss her every chance you get!”

“Oh, stop it, Karen,” Mary-Beth chastised as she elbowed her in the side. “Just be yourself, Arthur,” she added.

Normally, Arthur would have torn that particular piece of advice apart until it fell to ash at his feet. This time—and thanks to the pampering of three well-meaning, if not a little nosy, women—the words did something Arthur had never thought possible. Somehow, amid all the pruning and preening, the made him feel like a _person_.

And maybe, Arthur thought as he stalked nervously toward Y/N's tent, that feeling would last just long enough to make for a good night.


End file.
